


Up Above the World So High

by aralias



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Space, Healing, Healing Sex, M/M, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Post-Book 1: Carry On, Zero-gravity sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:55:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28431264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aralias/pseuds/aralias
Summary: Baz is a half-alien scientist; Simon is a cyborg - an augmented human who used to be able to do things so extraordinary they seemed like magic.Things were working out for them. They found each other, they saved the universe - but to make that possible Simon had to give up his power. Now, Baz worries Simon's lost himself.A night under the stars might change that.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 26
Kudos: 80
Collections: COE Winter 2020





	Up Above the World So High

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ladyofthefl0wers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladyofthefl0wers/gifts).



> Happy random day in December, [@shemakesmeforget](https://shemakesmeforget.tumblr.com/)! I love your art.
> 
> When I sent you an anon ask trying to find out what kind of space you were into - alas, I hoped you'd say Doctor Who or Star Trek. You didn't, but I wrote Star Trek anyway, so I hope that's OK! Your zero-gravity sex suggestion, however, was gratefully received, as you will soon discover. 
> 
> I thought I'd write a whole arc from them first living together, but time ran out so I just jammed all the backstory into this porn. I do have some (partially completed) deleted scenes, though. I'll link to them below, along with some amazing art by hufflepunky!!!
> 
> Hope you enjoy.
> 
> \--
> 
> Thank you to all those who have written or talked about writing Simon as a cyborg/android before me - and to Giishu for telling me it wasn't rubbish.

Simon’s gone when I wake up.

It’s two hours before my watch starts, but still early. And, as far as I know, Simon isn’t due on the bridge until a few hours after that. It’s unlikely he just wandered up there ahead of schedule, after everything that's happened. 

Sometimes, when I wake up and the space next to me is empty, he’s just gone back to his own bunk above mine. (He feels trapped easily. We both do, though I never feel trapped with him.) When that happens, I can tell he’s still there from the patterns of light from the diodes on his bare arms. They don’t reach the ceiling when he stays with me – they spill over my skin instead. I definitely prefer that, but I like looking at them up there, too. Watching them rise and fall as he breathes.

It’s still completely dark, though. Which means he’s really gone – even though I thought things were getting better.

Which means I should probably go and find him.

I roll out of my bunk and feel around for my shoes. I don’t bother to turn on the light. The eyes I got from my mother’s species let me see well enough without it.

“Computer, where’s Simon Snow?”

_“Simon Snow is on the observation deck.”_

I suppose that makes sense – although I am surprised they let him in. It’s not usually open until mid-bell. Maybe he _broke_ in. It wouldn’t be the first time.

I’m not at all dressed, because I fell asleep in Simon’s arms last night. (We didn’t have sex – he was too tired – but I like the feeling of his body against mine. We both do.) I doubt I’ll meet anyone I’m not trying to find at this hour, though. So, I just pull on a dressing gown, activate the door control, and go in search of my partner.

In the old days, before we were together, I’d sometimes go looking for him exactly like this, only to find him gone from wherever it was when I got there. I’d have to ask again at the next computer terminal, and then again once I got there because he was always moving. Always trying to fix something else.

He says the same used to happen to him when he went to look for me - although it wasn’t quite the same since I programmed the computer to tell me when he asked about me and left on purpose to piss him off. We’ve spent years, now, chasing each other around this ship.

But today I’m not surprised to find him where he’s supposed to be. (Where the computer thinks he’s supposed to be anyway. He’s _supposed_ to be in bed – mine for preference, but his own wouldn’t be a disaster either.) Simon used to think the universe needed him. He doesn’t think that anymore. It means he can take his time.

Also, he just doesn’t move as fast as he used to.

The metal implanted into his skin never used to hold him back. It used to make stronger. Quicker. The next stage of humanity’s evolution – according to our late and not-at-all lamented captain.

But that was when he – Simon – had the power of the universe running through his circuits.

Once we – once _I_ … worked out what was happening, once I worked out that Simon’s supernatural strength and skills were linked to the black holes appearing in this quadrant of the galaxy, he chose to give it all up. The neutron star embedded in his chest is gone now. Leaving the cybernetic parts of him to be powered by a regular trilithium battery.

It’s not nearly the same.

It works. It keeps him alive. And he’s still stronger and faster than any normal man, even if he’s slower than he used to be. He’s still all the human things he was – kind, brave, stubborn. 

But he can’t transform anymore. He can’t breathe outside the ship without a helmet. He can’t download new skills directly into his subconscious. ( _Terrifying_ , if useful.) And I know his body feels heavy in a way it never used to.

That alone would be enough to make anyone depressed.

Simon looks up as the door to the observation deck swishes open. He smiles and to my relief, I see it reaching his still-so-very-human eyes.

(I’m not sure why his mentor never upgraded those eyes, although I’m glad he didn’t. There are at least three people aboard this ship who can see better than Simon, including me. It's strange. Though - thinking about it - maybe it’s _because_ they’re human. He also didn’t touch Simon’s reproductive system, thank goodness. And Simon still has to eat, he still passes water. He’s still alive.)

“Hey,” he says.

He’s wearing his uniform, even though his shift doesn’t start for hours. He’s also sitting where I expected – on the floor, in front of a window full of stars. He doesn’t have to do this. There are plenty of chairs. No one else is here because – well, it’s the middle of the night, Earth time. But Simon always sits on the floor. It’s because the chairs are fixed too far back – he wants to be so close he could almost walk out, if he wanted to.

I sit down next to him. Smile back.

“Hey.”

I kiss the side of his face. On at the point where the cool golden metal of his facial implant meets the warm, freckled gold of his skin, just below his hairline. It’s one of my favourite places to kiss him. The others are more fully human – his lips, the crease of his thigh, the small of his back. But I like to remind him that I love the machine too, particularly after what happened.

“Did I wake you?” he asks.

I shake my head. “How long have you been here?”

“Not sure. An hour maybe?”

Not too long then.

Not long enough to wallow. And he’s still smiling – that’s good. This isn’t one of the bad nights, then.

“How’s the universe?” I ask.

Simon shrugs. “Seems all right. No new holes anyway.”

There haven’t been any new holes in nine cycles – almost a year, if we were back on Earth. But I understand why Simon keeps checking. Why he wants to be sure.

“That’s good news,” I say, nuzzling into his neck.

“Yeah. And you see that?” He stretches out a hand, pointing at a cluster of stars and planets.

Honestly, I can’t see anything that looks unique about the area he’s pointing to (interstellar geography isn’t really my field) but I nod anyway.

“ _That_ is the quadrant we seeded,” Simon tells me.

He means, that it’s one of the areas that was basically destroyed by what Simon was doing to the universe.

Our ship had other missions before, but since the revelation about Simon we’ve been mainly focused on working out how to undo the damage he caused. I know Simon wanted to transfer to another ship – I would have gone with him if he had, even though I love the Watford. (It’s where I met Simon. And it was my father’s old ship – he met my mother while he was serving here and although there’s no sign of his presence anymore, I like to imagine them both walking the same corridors I do.)

The new captain is a rather formidable woman, however. She also happens to be the mother of Simon’s best friend, so I think has always treated him as an unruly child, rather than the most powerful cyborg in the universe – which is what he _was_. She’s never treated him as a Jonah, either, even though it would have been easy to blame him. Simon certainly found it easy enough to blame himself.

She refused Simon’s transfer request – and mine, thank stars. She actually made him lead one of the strands of work in the re-seeding effort that saw us dragging unhabitable rocks across the galaxy and then terraforming them.

It was grim, depressing work, and I was worried Simon would spiral as a result. But Captain Bunce insisted it was better to be useful and to take part in cleaning up your own messes. She thought it would be healing for him. She thought we should hope.

Looking at Simon now, watching him looking at the little cluster of space we managed to rebuild together, it feels like she might be right. I do want her to be.

“It looks like it’s doing well,” I say – even though obviously I can’t see anything special, and Simon can presumably see less than I can. 

Simon lets out a breath. The LEDs embedded above his eyebrow flicker thoughtfully.

“Yeah. It might even be inhabitable again in a few cycles.”

The universe is recovering, then. That’s good. Maybe, in time – in a few hundred cycles – you won’t even be able to tell any of this happened. Not by looking at the universe, anyway. Because Simon Snow will never be the same again.

He used to be able to walk amongst those stars, not just look at them through a window.

I wish he hadn’t had to give it up. I wish _I_ hadn’t been the one who made him do it.

“What?” Simon says.

Which means I must have been staring at him.

“Just thinking about how beautiful you are,” I say, because I don’t want to tell him the truth – I know he hates it when I feel sorry for him. And because I _am_ thinking about how beautiful he is. I’m always thinking that.

Simon scoffs – although he’s smiling. (It’s beautiful.) He gestures at the window, at the white swirl of galaxies cutting through inky blackness.

“How can you look at all _this_ and say that?”

“Because you are.”

I tilt my chin up – in challenge, but also because I hope Simon might kiss me if I do.

He does seem about to, but before his lips reach mine a ship-wide announcement rings out through the speaker grills set in the wall.

_“We’re entering another anti-gravity pocket – everyone strap in.”_

I groan, pulling away from Simon.

I _hate_ anti-gravity pockets. Obviously exploring space is supposed to come with exciting new discoveries, but I rather wish we hadn’t found these. Weird areas of space that somehow wreck our artificial grav unit’s ability to do its bloody job. Provide artificial gravity.

It’s not a priority to fix it, since the pockets are far enough apart that we only tend to run into them every few cycles, and there are straps on most of the seats. It just means you have to stay wherever you are until it’s over. And, if you’re asleep, the way I was supposed to be, you could easily find yourself waking up on the ceiling without your blankets, which is extremely inconvenient _and_ cold.

I suppose I should be grateful I’m awake, but I’m not. I’m annoyed that whatever moment I was having with Simon is now ruined.

I push myself to my feet and throw myself irritably into one of the chairs. They’ve all been fitted with sets of straps for just this reason – they fasten over the shoulders and close around the waist. Comfortable enough, I suppose, if you don’t have a fear of being shut in. (Which I don’t – I just don’t like it.) I fasten the belt and then look around for Simon.

He hasn’t really moved, just turned back to the window. I see his reflection, staring outwards. As though he hasn’t even noticed.

“Simon?” I prompt.

“Yeah?”

“Didn’t you hear the announcement?”

We don’t have long before we hit the pocket – the warning is usually only about a minute or so before the main event.

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s fine, though.”

And then the gravity vanishes.

Since I’m strapped tightly into my chair, I barely feel it. My stomach swoops and drops unpleasantly, and the ends of my shoulder-length hair floats up around my face like it does in the bath. But otherwise, I feel nothing. Simon, meanwhile, is completely unrestrained.

But he’s right – he’s fine.

More than fine. 

As we enter the anti-gravity pocket, he pushes off from what was until recently the ground. Not hard, not so much that he collides with the ceiling – just enough to send him gliding upwards. Then, just as he’s about to reach the top of the room, he pulls his legs tightly in and twists his body round in a somersault. Kicks back with his feet again and sends himself back into the open space between us.

He’s laughing.

“Did you know we were going to hit the pocket?” I ask. “Is that why you were here?”

“No,” Simon says. “How could I? They’re unpredictable.” He executes another graceful tumble in the air. “It’s not bad though.”

I roll my eyes – though it’s just for show. This is the Simon I thought I’d lost for good – the Simon who laughs openly. Who walks easily amongst the stars. I’m entranced by him.

But I still shake my head when he holds out a hand to me.

“You should come up,” he presses.

“I can’t, love.”

Simon frowns. He lets air hiss out from one of the valves on his wrist – just enough propulsion to push him back down towards me. He catches my hand in his. Takes my chin with his other hand (the metal one) and turns me back to look at him. His legs stretch out behind him.

He should look ridiculous. Instead, he looks like some sort of man-made angel. Like hubris brought to life in different shades of gold. Shining brightly as he hangs in the air.

“Come on,” he says quietly. “Please.”

I shake my head again. I’m sure there are reasons – health and safety related reasons – why we’re not supposed to do this sort of thing in the public spaces, although right now I’m struggling to think of what they are. I do know it’s not a good idea, though. It’s just hard to remember that with Simon’s beautiful face hovering just above mine.

“ _Baz_ ,” he growls.

“ _Simon_ ,” I retort.

It’s not much of a retort, though, and Simon remains understandably unmoved.

I sigh. “Look - I didn’t really want to spell it out, but I’m not wearing trousers under this dressing gown.”

Simon laughs. “I don’t mind.”

“That’s not the point.”

“If you’re worried about people coming in, lock the door,” he says reasonably. “Your clearance is good enough.”

I suppose it is. Good enough that the computer would at least ask any of the more senior officers to reconsider if they tried to override my instructions, anyway. I’m _definitely_ wavering.

The last of my admittedly poor excuses melts away as he tugs himself down towards me. Presses his lips to mine, giving me the kiss we abandoned earlier when the alarms went off. He holds onto me tightly to anchor himself. Pushes his tongue forcefully into my mouth until I’m powerless against him.

I don’t resist when he lets go my hand to undo my restraints. I help him – and then push him back gently, so there’s enough room to pull my arms free.

Once that’s done, I clear my throat. “Computer—” My voice sounds wrecked already, but it must still sound enough like what’s on file that the database recognises me because it pings. “Lock the door to the observation deck. Don’t unlock it until I give my authorisation.”

Simon grins.

“ _Confirmed_ ,” the computer says and I hear the lock click into place. 

Then I kick off from the ground and float upwards into Simon’s arms.

He catches me easily, as though he does this sort of thing every day. Drawing me into another kiss as we turn gently in the air.

I feel his hands – one warm and human, the other colder than my skin – pushing under the collar of my dressing gown. And then pushing it down, off my shoulders.

“We don’t have to do this,” I tell him. “Just because I forgot my trousers.”

“What about if I want to?”

My heart flutters. (Which is ridiculous. Simon and I are committed to each other. And we do have sex. We had sex last week – I shouldn’t still be this affected by him. But this is different. It’s not just a quick shag between shifts, with Simon making it quick because he’s worried he’ll crush me. This is the love of my life unveiling me for himself like a gift, holding me gently as we defy the laws of physics together.)

He smooths my wayward hair back from my face. I try not to smile.

“Then, by all means, go ahead.”

“Don’t sound too keen, Baz,” Simon grumbles. “It’s like you’ve never wanted make love among the stars.”

I haven’t, if I’m entirely honest – I like having sex in bed, which is where Simon and I should be right now. But the sound of Simon saying _make love_ does things to me words alone shouldn’t be capable of. And he wants it. He’s thought about this before. Doing something like this with me. If I even tried to deny my interest – 

Well, I _can’t_ deny my interest, that’s the point.

I kick my shoes off and wrap my legs around his waist, pressing myself into him as my dressing gown floats away behind me to stars knows where.

“Please,” I tell him. “Make love to me.”

Simon doesn’t mess around or think twice. He takes me at my word. He pushes his face forward into mine, kissing me. The change in momentum, sends us spinning and I hang on tightly. Simon barely seems to notice.

He leaves my lips, moving to suck on one of my ears. I have erogenous zones there – I suppose all humans do, but mine are particularly sensitive because I’m not only human, I’m also half Hephaesian. Simon knows this. 

The first time he and I were intimate he made me come just by petting my ears. He put one of them entirely in his mouth and sucked. (An experience entirely unlike and somehow just as good as a blowjob.) I came far too quickly that first time. I don’t think I’d even taken my uniform off.

Fortunately, he also knew exactly how to make me hard again much faster than I’d ever managed myself. He’d done that impossible, terrifying thing he used to be able to do – just downloaded everything there was to know about Hephaesian sexual practices (and homosexual sex, I think) into his brain and then unleashed it on me.

I’d never had sex with anyone who knew I was half alien before – it’s not something you advertise in the current political climate. Simon was onto me from the start, though. He spent most of our time together at the Academy trying to get me to admit it. Then, once I eventually did, he decided it wasn’t a big deal and basically threw himself at me.

Since I’ve been in love with him since the moment I set eyes on him, and he’s determined and gorgeous, the sex probably would have been all right even if he hadn’t dumped all that information about my biology into his head. But as it was, it was pretty phenomenal.

He’s forgotten a lot of it now, of course – it took a lot of power to hold all that data, power Simon doesn’t have anymore – but some things stuck and knowing how much I like my ears sucked is clearly one of them.

I’m whimpering and jerking against him as I try and get the neck of his uniform open. I hear him sniggering around his own ragged breathing, which just makes things worse. The sound reverberates through me. Fuck. I’m going to have to do it. Push him back off me or we’ll never get anywhere.

“You could help,” I say breathlessly.

“You were doing OK,” Simon says.

It’s a lie, and a blatant one – I barely got the zip down past his collar bone – but at least he does let me go. I release my legs from around his waist and let myself float backwards as he strips.

Now, _I’m_ the one who looks ridiculous. Or at least, I feel like I must be –a naked man hanging in mid-air with an erection – but Simon’s eyes are on me and he definitely isn’t laughing. He’s pulling his uniform and his pants off as quickly as he can.

I get a brief glimpse of him – his hard cock, and golden lines – and then he’s pushing himself back towards me. Colliding with me, pulling me into another kiss as we spin together in front of the stars.

This time, I don’t wrap my legs around him. I pull back and then push myself down through the air and down Simon’s body. Past his nipples, past the embedded power-core in his chest, down over the softness of his stomach.

I hate the man who augmented him – for all sorts of reasons. For what he did to my mother, to my world. For being the kind of man who looked at Simon Snow and thought it was possible to make him _more_ than what he already was. But fuck, there’s no denying the man’s sense of aesthetics.

The hand and the golden plate embedded in his cheekbone – both the colour of Simon’s curls – are the only metal parts you can see when Simon’s clothed. When he’s unclothed, however, he’s —

Breathtaking.

His spine is inlaid in the same golden plate. It stretches over his shoulders and down both arms, running along the lines of his bones, accented with lights. His left arm ends in completely cybernetic hand, which Simon used to be able to turn into any shape he needed. Somehow – I still don’t understand how – he could do the same with his spine. (He had wings once. Golden wings. He used them to shield me from an asteroid collision. We weren’t even friends.)

His hips, which I’m currently level with, are also both metal, framing his stiffening cock. There are golden stripes down his legs, which wrap around his ankles like bracelets. And all of that just serves to set off his skin. People, when they think of cyborgs, tend to imagine of them with exquisite, untouched porcelain skin, the kind of skin you could synthesise. Perhaps that _is_ the kind of skin the others have – I haven’t checked.

Simon is freckled. He has moles in the most unlikely places. He’s gorgeous and he’s unique and, for some reason, he’s mine.

I bracket his hips with my hands and tug myself closer to him. Sliding my mouth over the head of his cock and then swallowing him down. Simon’s hand closes in my hair.

“ _Baz_ ,” he breathes. “Yes.”

Two of my favourite sounds in the universe.

I suck harder, letting him guide my head with his hand. He smells like sex and metal. Like Simon. As intoxicating as ever. 

My legs are dangling below me in the void – I’m not really sure what to do with them. (Normally, when I suck Simon off, I’m kneeling and there’s not really a choice of position – except whether I want to shame myself by jerking myself off or whether I think I can wait.) Without gravity, there’s nothing to push back against. It’s clear, though, that Simon has thought of this.

“Keep going,” he tells me as he reaches down for my elbow, then uses it to tug himself round. I let go of his hips as his body turns. I feel his cock twist in my mouth – an entirely novel and not unpleasant sensation – as he turns himself upside down.

And then Simon Snow has _my_ hips in his hands and he’s tugging me towards him.

I feel my eyes roll back as Simon swallows me. (At least I know what to do with my legs now – I wrap them around his head. He definitely likes that – at least, he does if the noises he’s making are anything to go by. Little contented murmurings that get more ragged as I start working him properly with my throat.) His mouth is warm. Wet – and wanting.

It’s been too long since Simon took the lead like this, but he’s so hungry for me today. Apparently even this isn’t enough, because then he slides a pair of slick human fingers into my arse. (One of the advantages of being partly metal is that no one ever asks you why you’re carrying personal lubricant.) The unexpected intrusion makes me jerk into his mouth, groaning around the cock in my mouth. Around _Simon._

It’s as though, today – now – he wants to be as inside me as possible. To overwhelm me as much as possible. Something I’m even more convinced of when his metal hand reaches up (down? I’m not sure anymore) for my ear. Rolling it between thumb and forefinger in a way that makes me want to weep.

I press myself more deeply down his throat, my hips spasming. Simon’s hips press into me. We could do this in normal gravity – I know people do – but fuck, it’s freeing to be weightless.

I think Simon probably feels that too. It’s why he isn’t holding back, why he’s giving me everything he’s got – fucking my face and my arse ( _and_ my bloody ear) while he sucks me.

I should probably tell him to stop, to make it last – but I’m passed the point of caring what I should do. I’m making the most terrible sounds around him. My orgasm is tightening in my gut and I let it. Clutching Simon’s hips, rocking my own, and trying not to bite him as I come.

Somehow, I see stars, even though I have my eyes shut.

When I open them again, I realise that, if I cut my eyes to the side, I can see the two of us reflected back in the window, superimposed over the real stars.

I almost wish I hadn’t – it’s like an extremely weird upside-down porno, my hair is terrible and my mouth is full of cock (hardly flattering). But the long stretch of Simon’s inlaid back and the curve of his arse are incredible from any angle. And when I start sucking him again properly, I see him spasm. His arse tenses. Which is _definitely_ worth watching.

I watch as he releases my ear in favour of running his fingers down my spine. I watch myself arch into him, even though I thought I was spent.

He pulls his head away, letting my softening cock slip from between his lips and presses his face against my thigh. I feel cool metal and warm flesh against my skin – both of them Simon. I feel him kiss me. I suck him harder until I can hear him panting.

“ _Fuck_ ” he groans into my leg. “Fuck. Baz, I – Fuck. Can I … make you hard again?”

I’m not surprised – not after all that. He hasn’t done anything like this for cycles, but today is different. (And I noticed he hadn’t removed his fingers. They’re firmly sheathed inside my body, like he’s been keeping me loose for something. I think we both know what that is, now.)

I pull my mouth away, back off his cock – and give him the most dignified look I can manage.

“I don’t know, Simon. Can you?”

He grins – because he’s always loved a challenge, even though this _barely_ qualifies. Pushes his body back up through the air until we’re face to face again.

Honestly, it doesn’t take much. Simon squeezes the base of my cock hard with his artificial hand (which should be painful, but apparently just makes people like me really want to go again) and bites my ear lobe. That’s it. That’s all it takes and I’m sobbing into his shoulder, begging him to fuck me.

“Hold on, darling,” Simon tells me, which does nothing to make me any less eager.

“ _Simon_ —”

“Shh.”

I whimper, but I know he’s doing it. He’s slicking his cock, pulling his fingers out. I wrap my legs around his waist again and my arms around his neck and angle my hips. And – finally – he pushes in. Looking up at me with his lovely, ever-so-normal eyes as he fills me up with himself.

I think it would be impossible to fuck hastily like this. There’s nothing to push against, nothing to brace against – but I don’t think Simon would want to, even if he could. His hips push up sweetly and steadily. He keeps running his hands up my back, pressing kisses into my shoulder because he can’t reach my mouth.

I bury my fingers in his hair. Murmuring his name against his ear. Telling him how good it feels, how much I want him, how beautiful this idea was.

When he comes (shuddering, clutching at me), I let go. Let myself fall backwards into the air. My legs are still locked around him and it feels safe. Freeing.

Simon strokes me to another climax, rubbing my stomach with his free hand as he does it. I’m briefly worried about where the fuck my semen is going to end up – but Simon urges me on, and I decide it’s his problem. I just spill into his hand.

It’s softer than the first. So soft.

And this time there’s a whole galaxy of stars.

After that, I spiral down from it, catching my breath.

I see Simon licking his fingers, when I can look at him. (I decide not to say anything about what he’s licking. I’m grateful he handled it. And, anyway, I don’t want to spoil the moment.) He’s looking at me like I know I look at him. With wonder. 

He smiles as I arch an eyebrow.

“Christ, Baz – you’re so lovely,” he tells me.

I would’ve been content to lie there a bit longer, but if he’s going to say things like that, I clearly have to kiss him. I pull myself up and Simon surges toward me. Wet meet somewhere in the middle, his lips crashing against mine.

I’m still kissing him (we’re still kissing each other) when the alarm sounds again.

_“We’re out of the pocket, everyone. Normal gravity resumes in five, four—”_

By this point I’m too shagged out, too drunk on Simon, to really register what it means. Fortunately, Simon reacts quicker – tugging me down with him towards what used to be the floor.

We still don’t quite make it. Simon’s about a foot away and I’m considerably higher up than that. He has to land, drop to his knees and catch me as gravity kicks back in aggressively.

“All right?” Simon asks anxiously.

I nod. I might have shouted as I dropped (in alarm – I was taken my surprise) and my heart is definitely beating far too quickly, but I’m all right. I’m held tightly in Simon’s arms.

“My hero.” I kiss the tip of his chin, which is all I can reach in this position. “Let me know if I can repay you in sexual favours.”

Simon snorts as he sets me back on my feet. “Is it a favour if you want it just as much?”

“Arguably.”

“Anyway, doesn’t your next shift start in an hour?”

I groan because he’s right. I should probably take a shower. “Afterwards then.”

“I’ll consider it,” Simon says. (He’s _mocking_ me. He hasn’t done that in cycles.) (I feel strangely light, even now we're down to earth.) He hands me my dressing gown, then goes looking for his uniform. I pull it on.

While I wait for him, I turn back to the window full of stars. At the universe that used to belong to Simon.

I still don’t know exactly what I’m looking at, but Simon’s right. It _is_ beautiful. (Even if it does pale in comparison to certain other sights I could mention.) And I know that somewhere out there, even if I can’t identify it, is a series of planets that are recovering. In a few cycles, they might be inhabitable. The captain was right – I should have been more hopeful.

I’m smiling as Simon comes up behind me, tucking his arms around my waist.

And I _am_ hopeful.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a lot of material I didn't use. You can find it [on my Tumblr](https://captain-aralias.tumblr.com/post/638957499938127872/wip-wednesday-up-above-the-world-so-high). 
> 
> hufflepunky made [some incredible SFW art of Baz in the chair with Simon hanging above him](https://hufflepunky.tumblr.com/post/639776842424942592/its-no-secret-how-much-i-love-sci-fi-and-so-when). Please check it out and give them some love.


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